Crossing the Rubicon
by winter156
Summary: There is a point of no return in every relationship. Andy and Miranda find their Rubicon.


Pairings: Andrea/Miranda  
Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, own none of these characters  
A/N: shesgottaread's prompt "cold feet" got my attention, so I wrote a short one-shot to get the idea out of my head.

* * *

**Crossing the Rubicon**

People assumed she never felt apprehension. They thought she was immune to doubt. They never attributed hesitation to her lengthy list of character traits. It was beyond anyone's ability to imagine that Miranda Priestly suffered from anything so plebian as cold feet.

The editor was proud of the fact. She worked tirelessly to present such an unflappable façade. She was brilliant, and her shrewd mind could arrange and rearrange a layout in seconds. With a cursory glance, Miranda processed color, cut, size, and accessories. She saw the whole picture in her mind's eye and reached decisions on aesthetic appeal, overall flow, and consistent continuity of each _Runway_ issue with alacrity. So to the bystander, Miranda never suffered from indecision.

In reality, however, the editor had moments of great doubt; moments where cold feet did not begin to cover the apprehension she felt over certain decisions. Those moments were few and far between, and they decreased in frequency with increase in age. But, that fact served to emphasize and magnify the moments when Miranda froze in indecision. Amplified in the contrast of infrequency, the moments of doubt loomed enormous in the backdrop of Miranda's decisiveness.

And of late, all of the editor's doubt centered around the lovely creature that had just walked into her office. Miranda's focus was on the spread laid out on her desk but the moment that Andrea sauntered into her office the editor's attention was drawn to the young woman. Blue eyes stayed glued on the pictures below her to feign indifference; but, they refused to see the lines, color, symmetry of motion, and asymmetry of design in the first decent shots presented to her all season. Her focus was almost entirely absorbed in drawing as much information as she could from her peripheral vision.

What she could not make out from the corner of her eyes, Miranda filled in with her mind. She had given Andrea a longer-than-customary once over at the start of their day. Appreciating the simple elegance of Chanel's little black dress draped alluringly around her assistant's curves paired with black Prada heels was second nature to the editor. But, lingering on the display was something that had become increasingly difficult to control in recent weeks. Arctic eyes had noted the carefully styled and pinned up hair that showed off pearl earrings; an accompanying necklace accentuating prominent collar bones; lithe, bare arms; long, supple legs visible from below mid-thigh to heel. Miranda had swept her gaze over Andrea twice, dragging her eyes slowly up to meet brown on the final sweep. Intense, dark blue eyes locked with deep, chocolate eyes. A pink tongue absently swept over rosy lips. "Acceptable," the word was a low whisper, raspy, and delivered in a timbre Miranda only ever used in the bedroom.

The editor knew the young woman had dressed to impress. And, she was impressed.

If Miranda discounted all the moments of delicious tension that proximity brought between herself and Andrea, work had gone remarkable smoothly from that point on. She even deigned to attend a small farewell party in her assistant's honor. The young woman (along with all the _Runway_ staff present) had seemed surprised at her presence but pleased she had attended.

Officially, Andrea had left her employ an hour previous. The editor was inordinately pleased the young woman had stayed a bit longer. Apparently, Andrea had informed Emily she would take care of the Book one final time, which allowed the British woman to head out at a normal hour to enjoy her Friday night. Miranda had seen a surprisingly heartfelt exchange between her first and second assistants. The editor had heard something resembling _good riddance_ in Emily's voice followed by a warm laugh. She had looked up to see her first assistant awkwardly returning an enthusiastic hug, before the redhead grabbed her things and quickly left the building. The brunette had turned to the eyes she felt watching her and smiled before going to her desk to presumably finish up on some final work.

"Miranda," the voice, much closer than she had anticipated, pulled the older woman to the immediate moment.

Carefully taking her glasses off, the editor allowed her gaze to sweep over the young woman, reveling again in the beautiful sight before her. "Yes, Andrea," the husky breath the subservient comment was delivered with made the brunette flush lightly and gulp visibly. Tracing the leg of her glasses against her bottom lip, Miranda resisted the uncharacteristic urge to smile at how easily Andrea was flustered.

"May I sit?" At the minute nod of the editor's silver head, the former assistant sat. Taking a shaky breath, Andrea opened her mouth and began speaking. "I just want to say thank you. Working with you has been…"

Miranda watched full lips forming words of gratitude and praise; and though she appreciated them, the words themselves were not as important as the lips making them. Eyes firmly fixed on the face across from her, the editor laid her glasses on her desk and leaned back in her chair. She watched, fascinated, as emotion flicked across brown eyes. She dared not interrupt Andrea's monologue and distract the sincere outpouring of feelings she would be loathe to accept under normal circumstances.

Mesmerized by the tone and cadence of the voice floating to her ears, Miranda found herself at a point of decision. With Andrea no longer in her employ, she could pursue a resolution to the pent up tension that seemed permanently attached to all their interactions. Looking into eyes so expressive in their emotion she felt captivated, the editor made the decision to attempt to capture the young woman's heart. With the decision made came what had become the usual emotion attached to most of her decisions about the young woman: doubt.

The editor felt the heaviness of the moment take hold of her. She idly wondered why the term for indecision was cold feet. Her discomfort was never isolated to her feet. It was a whole body distress. Feeling her heart stutter in her chest, Miranda tried not to think beyond the moment. With difficulty, she maintained an outward appearance of calm. But, internally she shuddered. She felt cold and hot at the same time with the fear of possible rejection for an action she was not sure she was brave enough to take.

Feeling her heart clench, the editor stood. She refused to be ruled by fear of possible outcome. She would burn her bridges, cross the Rubicon, go past the point of no return to ensure her actions were congruent with her decision. Going around her desk, ignoring the silence now permeating the room, Miranda stood in front of Andrea.

Mouth open in question, brows furrowed in confusion, and brown eyes clouded with uncertainty met the editor's leaning form. Miranda halted any questions with an upraised hand.

"Do you have any plans for tonight?"

The brunette's brow furrowed further and she gaped at the editor. At the arched brow directed her way, Andrea shook her head in the negative before finding her voice, "No." The young woman tried not to fidget under the intense blue stare that would not release her.

"Would you," Miranda cleared her throat, internally cringing at her hesitance, "care to have dinner with me?"

The utter shock in brown eyes made the editor's stomach knot uncomfortably. The protracted silence that followed the question made the back of Miranda's neck and shoulders flush hot while the rest of her felt cold. Crossing her arms protectively around her and closing her eyes against the imminent rejection, the editor mentally withdrew; her only consolation the fact that after that moment she would never see Andrea again.

A warm hand wrapped itself momentarily around Miranda's forearm snapping the editor's attention to the now standing brunette. "I'd love to have dinner with you, Miranda." The smile that followed the statement chased all the coldness away from the editor's body, leaving behind a warm, tingling sensation that was far from unpleasant.

* * *

Miranda's employees if pressed would say their boss was cruel, demanding, impatient and vicious. They would never attest that the editor could be affectionate, amicable, charming and sincere. The dichotomy was carefully cultivated for maximum efficiency; for _Runway_ staff experienced the brunt of the former and _Runway_ VIPs experienced the latter in limited doses. Only Miranda's daughters ever got a full dose of her good side. Until that Friday night.

At dinner the editor was devastatingly affable and utterly charming putting her former assistant at ease after an awkward start. Andrea experienced what most of _Runway's_ designers experienced when Miranda needed something from them. Except the editor was not putting on a show, she was achingly sincere because she wanted to woo the young woman.

Miranda wanted Andrea to feel comfortable and engaged. She wanted many repeats of the date, followed by many more experiences together. So, the editor opened several avenues of conversation and filled the gaps in silence when the brunette's gaze looked particularly cloudy or far away. She was attentive. She listened. She made Andrea her sole focus. And, she was more than pleased to note the effect that attention had on the young woman. It was invigorating to know she could capture someone's attention so completely.

The night wore on in like manner with Andrea relaxing and reciprocating the attentiveness. Miranda was pleasantly surprised at the spectrum of topics that garnered the young woman's interest, it gave them much to discuss.

The close of the date found them standing outside of Andrea's apartment, both filling the space between them with little nothings in an obvious attempt to lengthen the goodbye.

"Thank you," Andrea was touching Miranda's forearm again, "I had a wonderful time." The smile she gave the editor was wide and brown eyes sparkled with pleased surprise. "Next time, I'll choose the place."

Miranda's smile was involuntary; a direct representation of what the words did to her heart. "I look forward to it." She felt Andrea's hand searing into her forearm in the most pleasant of ways. Leaning forward, the editor placed a kiss on the brunette's cheek. Lingering momentarily, she whispered, "Good night, Andrea."

The editor thrilled at the audible intake of breath. Moving back she caught dark eyes regarding her openly.

"In for a penny…" Andrea whispered, tightening her hand on Miranda's forearm and slowly leaning forward.

The kiss was soft and light until the young woman's hands found the back of the editor's neck and pulled her in deeper. Then, the kiss was something entirely different. It was a forgiven past. It was a tentative future. It was a promise given, received, and reciprocated.

It was the point of no return.


End file.
